Stories From a Stranger
by Prime627
Summary: Strongarm wants to know about her commanding officer, but he won't tell her anything and she's tired of waiting. When she is caught trying to listen to him while he talks in his sleep, she runs into the forest in embarrassment. And that's when she finds the stranger who seems to know more about Bumblebee than anyone alive.


Strongarm perched on the junkpile. She was watching her team leader sleep, which was a great honor on Cybertron. She tipped her helm as she thought, and she often did. What was he like before he got his voice back, before he became an officer, back when he was with Optimus Prime. _The_ Optimus Prime.

But he wouldn't talk, and the only time she got to listen to him was when he was sleeping. Sideswipe joked that Bumblebee talked in his sleep because it had been so long since he had his voice back that he needs to use it every chance he can get. But Strongarm didn't think so. She respected her commanding officer, and up until now she had respected his privacy.

She sat forward when Bumblebee started chatting away.

"Ratchet...Ratchet, no...Bulkhead? Bulkhead, run! Megacron...Unitron...Whatshisname...Smokie...!"

Strongarm frowned as she watched him. Smokie? Who was that? Megacron? Unitron? Mm.. She decided to lean in closer. He was getting quieter.

For a moment she thought he stopped talking, giving her little pieces of information of his past. Then his lips rasped against her audio.

"Strongarm, if you want to know about my past, you should simply wait for me to tell you."

She squeaked and stumbled back. Unable to face her officer, she took off and hid in the woods. She hugged herself as she sat down and she sighed. How would she get to know Bumblebee's past now?

"Excuse me, ma'am?" A 'bot she had never seen before sat down beside her. "Are you well?" He bore the Autobot insignia on her shoulder, which made her interested. It made her stay.

"Yes, sir..." She looked at him slowly. "Who are you?"

"My name is not important at this time, my dear one."

She gasped as she looked at him. Dear one? She hadn't been called anything remotely affectionate since she was plucked from the Well. Bumblebee had chosen her to be taught as an officer, but she didn't feel affection from him. Was there affection? She felt there should be.

"But you...you are Strongarm, born from the Well. One of the Chosen."

The Chosen were mechs and femmes that were picked out by other mechs and femmes to be taken as apprentices or other lower-slot-jobs where they would train. Of course, the caste-system had been abandoned and the Chosen could choose their own slots in life, but they were picked out first. Those who were not Chosen were put in day-cares, and they would be integrated into training programs, but many became punks like Sideswipe.

She was one of the lucky ones, she supposed.

"I am, sir."

The mech smiled and waved his servo. "Do not refer to me as sir, dear one. You may call me..." He seemed to hesitate for a moment. "Whatever comes to mind."

She looked at him for a long moment. "What were you called when you were Chosen?"

"Ah. I was not Chosen, not like you. I was put in day-cares, but I found my knack in analysis, and data-sorting. I earned the name Orion Pax from my mentor." He looked at her.

Strongarm frowned. This mech was too heavily armored to be a data-clerk. Had the officials of the Well made a mistake? And the Choosers made a mistake? He should have been a warrior, or at least a general, but no, apparently he was a data-clerk.

"Well, nice to meet you, Orion Pax..." She smiled politely, but she was edging away.

"Do not leave yet," he said. He wasn't threatening. He was asking, inviting her to stay. He didn't give her optic-contact. He wasn't threatening. He was gentle.

She was convinced to stay.

"I hear you wanted to know all about your commanding officer."

She sat down.

He launched into a grand story, telling about humans, and one little human with specticles in particular. She learned about a fierce medic, a mute scout that had been her commanding officer before she knew him, the Last of the Primes, a small femme with a big attitude, "Like yourself," the mech had said. She sat forward when he talked about a large mech with larger shoulders, "Too big for my liking," he had said with a playful smile on his face. She especially liked the two he called the Wreckers. Her optics were bright with the stories he was telling her, and she whined as he kissed between her optics.

He was a father after the last bedtime story to his daughter. Then he stood and touched her cheek.

"You have a whole life in front of you, Strongarm." He touched the place where he had kissed and her optics dimmed. She whined for the mech, but he had already left.

"Strongarm? What are you doing here?"

She turned around to see Bumblebee watching her. One of his optic ridges was raised.

"I was listening...to...stories. About you. And a medic, and a femme, and a Prime."

Bumblebee frowned. "Who told you those stories?" He walked up to her. "Strongarm, tell me? Is Bulkhead here? Wheeljack? Ratchet? Arcee?"

She frowned. "No, Orion."

He sighed and he backed away from her. "Stop, Strongarm...stop it. Just...go back to camp. No more stories. I don't know where you heard those from, but..." He sighed and he rubbed his helm. "Primus..."

Strongarm watched as he padded away and left her. She turned around when she felt a servo on her shoulder and she smiled up at the mech that had told her the stories.

He pressed a digit to his lips, smiling.

He winked.

And then he was gone.


End file.
